


Just For Tonight, I'll Pretend

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, Futurefic, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-15
Updated: 2002-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-01 08:21:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/354321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future Fic.  Chloe's POV.  Clark/Lex implied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just For Tonight, I'll Pretend

## Just For Tonight, I'll Pretend

by Catlover

[]()

* * *

Tonight, is the prom. In two weeks, is graduation. After that, your guess is as good as mine. Life. Real life is as good a guess as anything. I guess. But, one thing I know for sure: June was never so scary, before. 

Tonight, I stand in a red, satin formal. Alone, looking so unlike myself. Peering out my living room window, I wait for the minivan to arrive. I don't wait long. Within minutes, it's pulling up the driveway. 

Inside the approaching van, I can see the shadows of my three best friends. By the way the dark forms are tossing about, I can tell somebody just told a joke. A really funny one. Stepping outside, I squint as the headlights shine in my face. Raising a hand, I manage to ward off enough light to see that, once again, they've reserved shotgun just for me. 

You see, tonight, we're going to the prom as a group because none of us are able to go with the people we want. So, as a consolation prize, we get each other. It's not so bad. After all, there are worse things in this life than spending quality time with good friends. 

Good friends. That even includes Lana Lang. Yeah, that axe got buried long ago. One day, I realized we had so much in common that it was stupid for us to be enemies. I extended an olive branch in the form of a pint of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream. Thankfully, she didn't throw it back in my face. Instead, she brought out two spoons. Bent over that pint, purring with each spoonful of chocolate goodness, all our grudges fell to the wayside. Ever since, we've been the best of friends. 

Anyways, I attempt to slide into the car. Along the way, I look over at Lana's smiling face and for once, her smile actually reaches her eyes. This shocks me for a second and I pause in my ascent of Mount Ford Aerostar. That is a big mistake on my part because it's hard enough for me to get into this vehicular monstrosity when I have all the momentum of a running leap behind me. 

I mean, now, I'm stuck. My left hand is on the seat back. My right hand is grabbing onto that pull-up strap every car has so you have something to hold onto when your buddy decides to take a turn too fast. I have one foot on the edge of the trim and the other one dangling behind me. All the while, I'm struggling in heels I'm not used to. 

Sound like a recipe for disaster, yet? 

Just when I'm sure I'm done for, Lana, my hero, comes to my rescue and offers me a hand. Taking it, I let her help me into the car as I continue to grip the seat back. Laughing and screaming out loud, I almost go splat, but Lana manages to hold on. After a few seconds, the sliding passenger door behind me opens, but further help is not required because Lana and I somehow manage to haul my ass into the minivan. 

Go womanpower! 

Looking across at her beaming face, I really am happy to see the worry lines almost disappear. Then, the passenger door behind me shuts softly. Following her line of sight, I notice Lana glance past me. To the corners of her eyes, the lines return. Those miserable little lines that always give her face a hint of age, like she was held back a grade or three. 

Closely, I follow her gaze. Her stare floats past me to the other passengers in the car, to the seat right behind mine. For an instance, her vision pauses and the slightest deepening of the worry lines around her eyes occur. Smiling sadly, I know exactly what Lana's feeling. 

You see, my Lana's lonely. My dearest friend feels hopelessly alone. Helplessly, I can only wish I could do something. I can only wish I could smooth her wrinkles away. 

Last week, there was actually a moment when we were sitting quietly together. There were no problems, no deadlines, no filled passenger seats behind me. Like magic, those little lines almost disappeared. That's when I knew Lana was at ease and just knowing that put me at ease. 

That's funny - coming from me. There was a time when I couldn't be comfortable with Lana. Her life seemed too perfect, back then. She was a cheerleader. She was the girlfriend of the star quarterback. She was the center of the universe of my center of the universe. 

Yeah. 

Well, things change. Years pass. Feelings fade. Crushes die. Boyfriends leave. Then one day, a telegram arrives, saying that the one that got away is injured, alone and asking for you. 

The day after the telegram arrived, Lana headed on a plane for San Diego. She never paused. Not for one minute. Whitney needed her. That was all she needed to hear. Whitney was shipped back from the war with bandages everywhere. Luckily, he made a full recovery. Two weeks after she'd left, Lana returned. On her finger, she had a ring and around her eyes, she had tiny worry lines. 

That's when Ben & Jerry's entered our lives. 

Last week, Lana confided in me that his tour is up next year. She says then it's just a matter of time before they can get married. That's what causes those worry lines to deepen. By that, I mean the anticipation of his arrival causes her to miss him all the more. Whatever do you think I mean? 

Well, over time, my envy has become understanding. Likewise, my jealousy has morphed into friendship. So, that's why I'm wearing a truly happy smile as I carefully shift in my seat, telling her, "On to the ball, driver if you please." 

I nod at her sharply as I return her raised eyebrow. As I pull on my seatbelt, we exchange secret smiles until she flips her long, straight hair over her shoulder. Turning, Lana glances at the rear view mirrors and signals. With a glance in my direction, Lana warns us to hold on tight before shifting the minivan into drive and flooring the gas. 

With a lurch, we're off. Looking over my shoulder, I see the reason I'm here at all, sitting behind Lana. Reclined with his usual confidence, I watch Pete talk animatedly, his hands flying about, punctuating his story. The wide smile tells you everything's cool, but I know better. We all know better. 

Two weeks ago, Pete's latest so-so serious girlfriend broke up with him. On top of a bruised ego, Nina left him with two tickets to the prom, a rented tux for which he already paid the deposit and a color coordinated boutonnire and corsage combination. 

That's where I came in. 

I wasn't planning on going to the prom. I was planning on staying home. I was going to pack. The stuff going with me to Metropolis was going to go in suitcases and specially marked boxes. The stuff I didn't want to take was destined for Goodwill or possibly a safely constructed bonfire. So, you see, I gave this packing thing a lot of thought and I never considered going to the prom. 

So, how did I get here? What can I say? I'm a sucker for puppy dog eyes and a slightly protruding lower lip. Both of which Pete had while he begged me to go with him. I was doomed from the start. So, I thought if I'm doomed, then I'll be damned if I'll be doomed by myself. Therefore, it was I who came up with the bright idea of going as a group. 

So, I guess I have no one to blame, but myself. 

However, I have to admit. I'm very curious to see this corsage I've heard so much about. It's the reason why I'm wearing faux-ruby earrings. It's the reason for the red satin dress. It's the reason for the two-inch red high heel pumps I borrowed from Lana in which I can barely stay vertical. 

Apparently, Nina planned on wearing red. Pete already had a red tie and cummerbund set. So, I jumped on the red bandwagon, which, with my pale skin, is not always such a good thing. Therefore, it was with the expectation of a man before the firing squad that I extended my hand towards Pete and waited for him to slip the corsage on my wrist. 

To say I'm shocked by what I see would be an understatement. 

Gazing at the delicate arrangement of rose buds Pete presents, I am genuinely pleased. It's so beautiful and I realize at that moment that Nina must have really meant something to Pete. Because, his mouth is tight and his jaw is set. His hands are steady and efficient. I watch his face as he straightens the corsage, positioning it just so. Throughout the whole experience, he doesn't look in my eyes once. 

That's okay. 

A moment later, the spell's broken. Soon, Pete's spinning tall tales again, making us laugh. In fact, my stomach hurts and my chest is sore from all the laughter as we turn the corner and the school comes into view. It looks good. In fact, it looks wonderful, not at all like a school. There are lights hanging in long arching strands and temporary woodwork creates ivy-covered trellises and canopies where locker filled hallways and basketball courts once stood. 

It's a most magnificent illusion. 

Gently, Lana comes to a stop. Wide-eyed, we all pile out of the van in awe. That's when I finally get a good look at Clark. He's in a rented, black tuxedo looking uncomfortable in unfamiliar clothes. His hair is combed back, but unruly curls fall in the middle of his forehead, like always. As he brushes the wavy locks aside, I shiver. He looks just like he did that blissful day at the Spring Formal, three years ago. Well, the same except for the six inches he's added to the 5'11" frame he sported back then. 

Exiting the minivan, Clark steps hesitantly onto the concrete sidewalk. All at once, he's the nerdy boy I kissed in the eighth grade and I'm caught again. After all these years, I'm so easily caught again. 

Unable to stop myself, I run my eyes over his full lips. For the thousandth time, I realize I still regret the kiss that never was at that long ago Spring Formal. Silently, I sit in the minivan with the door open and my feet dangling off the side. I sit and I watch. I watch Clark as he brushes the wrinkles from his suit. I watch as he runs his hands lightly over his hair. Still, I sit. Hypnotized, as I watch him slowly look over his shoulder in my direction. 

Looking in my eyes, Clark smiles so sweetly as he walks over and extends a hand in my direction. In a dream come true, I squeeze his hand firmly, taking his arm when he offers it to me. The world falls away. Lana isn't there. Pete isn't there. It's just Clark and I. Together. 

Looking toward the future, I see Clark and I dancing. Slowly, we move to an old standard. It'll be perfect. The lighting will be subtle. The music will be just loud enough to move us until, somewhere in the middle, I'll hold him too tightly. Instantly, he'll tense up. I'll feel the struggle in him and I won't care. I'll want him so badly. I won't be able to help myself. 

Wrapping my arms around him, I'll hold him tighter as I whisper, "Please, Clark. Just let me pretend, one last time." 

Like always, he'll be the perfect friend. He'll dance with me until the song is over and then awkwardly pull away. For the rest of the prom, there'll be a distance between us. There'll be a strained unease in his eyes. 

But, that's in a future that'll never exist. 

That will never be because look at him now, smiling at me so sweetly, waiting for me to take his hand. I would never hurt Clark. I would never want to bring tiny lines to those eyes. 

Looking past him, I see Lana and Pete standing arm in arm by the entrance to the school. With sympathetic eyes, Lana nods slightly at me in understanding as she tightly squeezes Pete's arm. Framing her eyes, those damnable worry lines have returned. By the way she's looking at me, I know my own worry lines must be deep, indeed. 

Returning to Clark's friendly eyes, I pull myself out of my reverie. Struggling to remain in the real world, I concentrate on the curves of Clark's extended hand and wrist. As his cuff draws up his forearm, I see it - A silver watch with a Napoleon Franc from 1806 as the dial face. It clinks as I take hold of Clark's wrist, making it impossible to ignore. That watch, that obscenely priceless trinket, more than anything else, tells me that Clark is definitely not here with me. 

No matter how much I pretend. 


End file.
